Rain
by Tex-chan
Summary: On the anniversary of his parents’ deaths and his sister’s accident, Aya wants to be alone, so that he can brood over his bad memories. Can a friend’s unexpected appearance help him to remember being alive is a good thing, even when it seems otherwise?


_**Summary:** On the anniversary of his parents' deaths and his sister's accident, Aya wants to be alone, so that he can brood over his bad memories. Can a friend's unexpected appearance help him to remember being alive is a good thing, even when it seems otherwise?_

_**Author's Note:** Another little ficlet response to a writing challenge. The challenge: "Aya" and "Fruitcake"._

_**Warning:** Some bad language._

_**Legal Stuff:** As always, this story is intended to express one fan's genuine appreciation of Weiss Kreuz and its characters. It is just for fun and not for profit. If you have any rights in the anime described here and find the posting of this fanfiction offensive or harmful, please contact me, and I will be happy to remove it._

**Rain**

Aya stood at the edge of the Koneko's roof, looking down at the alleyway behind the flower shop. The sky was cloudy and the air was heavy with the promise of rain. Aya could smell it -- that fresh, sweet scent of the coming downpour. It was one of those smells that seemed to crawl right into his head, until he could taste it on the back of his tongue, a smell he always associated with better times, a smell he associated with innocence and purity. Maybe because it seemed as if the rain could wash everything clean and give a fresh start to the world it touched. He wondered if it might wash him clean, too, if he just stayed out in it long enough.

But, no, that could never happen. It was a figment of his imagination, and nothing more -- a will 'o the wisp of a dream that he knew better than to believe. Since taking up Kritiker's white cross, he had been caught in hundreds of rainstorms. He had stood, naked and trembling, beneath thousands of showers, just praying the scalding hot water could make him clean once more. But, it never happened. The blood was there; it would never wash off. He had known that, upon joining Weiss and taking his place among Kritiker's killing dolls. He had taken this path anyhow, even knowing what it meant for him, and even knowing what it made him. Sometimes, he wondered if he would do it all over again, given the choice. But, he didn't allow himself to dwell on those thoughts for too long. He couldn't. Down that path in his mind lay madness. He couldn't start second-guessing himself now -- not if he wanted to hang on to the last bit of sanity left to him. This was his life now. The life he had chosen. There was nothing left for him but to accept it and keep on moving on until death finally caught up with him.

A breeze began to blow. He heard it rustling through the papers and trash at the far end of the alley, and, seconds later, it reached his vantage point, stirring his hair. Aya turned his face toward the wind and took a deep breath, smelling its wet, fresh scent. The fragrance was stronger than before, confirming his belief that it would, likely, begin to rain within the next hour or two. Maybe, if there wasn't too much lightning, he would stay out here and watch as the storm swept across the city and the rain cleansed everything in its path. Well, not everything. He already knew it would do nothing to clean his soul. But, that was beside the point.

There was something wild and free and dangerous about sitting here and watching the storm roll in across the sky. The idea of braving the elements while watching people on the sidewalks below dart for cover appealed to him. He wasn't sure why. Maybe because it was almost like freedom -- he had the choice to sit out in the rain while the rest of the world sought shelter. Maybe it was because this was one of the few choices left to him. Heaven knew his path in life didn't leave much room for personal freedom. Or, maybe he just liked feeling smug and superior to all those drones down there -- the ones who darted for cover or grabbed the nearest day-old paper to shield their heads as soon as the first drops of rain fell, as if they would melt. Maybe it was because the rain matched his mood so perfectly, especially today. Maybe it was nothing more than wanting to be alone and brood in the rain, until the water ran from the ends of his hair and the droplets chilled his skin to the point where he couldn't feel them any more. Maybe, if he stayed out in it long enough, he would be numb all over. He would finally stop feeling. Stop caring. Stop hoping. Maybe, then, he truly would be free. Maybe it just felt right, to be out in the rain today -- the anniversary of the day when his previous life had ended and his new existence had begun.

It had been raining that day, too. He remembered it like it was yesterday -- how he and Aya had run home from the festival in the pouring rain; the water had been cold against his skin as it had dripped from his too-long bangs; Aya had teased him about that, telling him he needed to cut them soon, or he wouldn't be able to see where he was going; he had laughed at her, shaking the water out of his hair so that it fell onto her as they both darted inside, expecting to find their parents waiting for them to celebrate Aya's birthday; instead, their world had exploded into a cloud of flying debris and trash -- everything that had been their lives up to that point destroyed in one instant, left to smolder and smoke in the falling rain. He remembered how Aya had stumbled to her feet, stunned by the explosion she had so narrowly escaped.

He closed his eyes and saw her standing there, every detail clear and razor-edged sharp in his mind's eye -- the shocked expression on her face, how the light from the flames engulfing their house had reflected in her eyes, how she had taken a step toward him, as if to free him from the debris that had fallen on top of him, pinning him in place, how she had hesitated and then turned away, yelling back that she would go for help. He heard the roar of the car's engine; he saw the flash of its headlights. He watched, again and again, as the car screamed around the corner and struck Aya down like she was nothing. He heard her body hit the ground with a sickening thud, and he heard the sound of a scream tearing through the night. Even now, years later, it was hard to believe the scream was his -- his voice, echoing through the rainy night, screaming out all his anger, rage, and pain into the darkness around him. And, finally, the sucking hum of the car's tires against the wet pavement as it drove away. To this day, the sound of tires squishing against wet asphalt sent shivers down his spine. He hated that sound.

The roof-top door opened with a protesting squeal that seemed loud, even against the windy blackness of the night, and was enough to jar him out of his memories. It was a harsh sound -- metal against metal -- and it climbed up Aya's backbone to lodge at the base of his skull, where it made his hair stand on end and his teeth itch.

He glanced around just in time to see Yohji stumble over the door's raised threshold. Aya heard Yohji curse as he struggled to catch his balance. The words were just loud enough to carry across the roof, as if riding the breeze. Aya sighed, shaking his head in disbelief and glancing toward the sky, as if the heavens could explain why he had to be saddled with this particular, chain-smoking burden -- especially tonight, when he wanted nothing more than to brood in peace.

Maybe, if he stood really, really still, he would blend in with the darkness, and Yohji wouldn't realize he was there.

'Guess not,' Aya thought, glaring with an eyes-narrowed expression of disapproval as Yohji gave him a half-hearted wave of greeting and started across the rooftop toward him.

"Go away," Aya said, as Yohji came to stand next to him.

"Fucking hello to you, too," Yohji replied, following up the greeting with a muttered, "Jackass."

Aya sighed -- a short, irritated-sounding huff of air through his nostrils. Normally, he would be more than happy to fight with Yohji. He would welcome the verbal sparring, even. But, not tonight. Tonight, he didn't have the energy, and he just wanted to be alone with his memories. Yohji knew him. Aya figured Yohji knew him as well as anyone could, and Yohji knew he wanted to be alone. And this made Yohji's presence all the more irritating. A true friend would've minded his own business and stayed out of things. Wouldn't he?

None of that mattered now. It looked like Yohji was here for the duration. Aya frowned over at him as Yohji paused to light a cigarette. He carried a small, paper bag in one hand, and it made a crinkling sound as he fumbled in his pocket for his lighter, and, then again as he brought his hands up to his face to light the cigarette.

"I thought you had a date," Aya said, looking away from Yohji and back down into the darkness of the alley.

"Eh, called it an early night," Yohji replied.

The words seemed to ride out of his mouth on a stream of white smoke, which dissipated on the breeze. Out of the corner of his eye, Aya saw Yohji shrug and flick the ashes off the end of his cigarette. They spiraled down into the darkness below for a second or two, until they caught the slight updraft from the alley and floated back up toward Yohji before blowing away on the wind.

"She wasn't exactly willing to play the kind of games I was in the mood for," Yohji mumbled around the cigarette in his mouth as he took another drag. "So, I came home. Lucky thing, too. Somehow, I knew I'd find you out here in the dark, angsting like a schoolgirl who's lost her last pair of knee socks."

"Very funny," Aya said, his voice flat and toneless.

"Wasn't meant to be," Yohji replied, flicking more ashes into the alley below them.

Aya glanced sideways at Yohji, wondering what he had meant by that statement. But, Yohji didn't seem inclined to explain himself. He just stood there, staring off into the night and smoking. The crackle of his burning cigarette and the sighing huff of the smoke leaving his lungs seemed loud and big against the sudden quiet that had fallen between them. The faint scent of stale smoke and perfume mixed with the smell of Yohji's cigarette, almost as if they had wrapped around the two men, although Aya knew it was nothing more than a trick of the breeze.

He hadn't wanted company, but Aya couldn't help feeling comforted by Yohji's familiar sounds and smells. He hated himself for that -- for needing to feel someone he trusted close by, and for wanting the comfort Yohji's presence could bring. He had sworn he would never feel this way again. He would never seek solace in the presence of another person ever again. It was too hard, and too painful. And, in many ways, he felt it was more than he deserved. Walking the world alone was his atonement for the path he had chosen to avenge his family. And yet, he was still human, deep down inside. No matter how much he hardened his heart, no matter how much he wanted it to be otherwise, he needed this. Even worse than that, he wanted it. Somehow, it made Aya feel as if he had betrayed himself and his family.

"How did it go today?" Yohji asked, his voice so soft it almost didn't carry the short distance between them.

When Aya didn't reply, but only stared at him, Yohji continued, "Today's the day, right? The anniversary? I just … wondered how you were."

He spoke slowly, and his tone of voice seemed hesitant, as if he was unsure or uncomfortable with the topic. As if he didn't know what to say, but, all the same, felt he had to say something. As if he knew he was saying the wrong thing, no matter what came out of his mouth.

On any other day, Aya might have felt sorry for Yohji's discomfort. But, not today. Today, he couldn't summon up even the smallest measure of human kindness, not even to extend to a friend who was trying to help him. He didn't feel kind or friendly. He didn't feel anything but empty. Besides, he hadn't asked for Yohji's company.

"How do you think I am?" Aya snapped, turning to glare at Yohji.

"Crappy. Depressed. Pissed as hell at the world and yourself," Yohji replied with another shrug.

Yohji was careful to keep his tone of voice even and matter-of-fact. Aya could be short-tempered even on the best of days. Today, he knew it wouldn't take much to start the mother of all fights, and Yohji didn't want to go there. For one thing, he didn't want to fight with Aya. That was never pleasant, and it never accomplished anything, other than proving they were both too damn stubborn for their own good. For another, he just didn't want to make Aya feel any worse than he already did. If he had had any sense, Yohji knew he would have left well enough alone. He would have left Aya to his silent, solitary brooding. But, the thought of Aya out here on the roof during the coming rainstorm, alone with his memories of that day, had eaten away at him, until he had gone against his better judgment and sought Aya out. He didn't know why he had done it, and, maybe, he even regretted his actions, now that he was here. But, the urge had been strong -- so strong that it had overridden his common sense. He was here now, so he figured he might as well make the best of it, even if he didn't know what to say to Aya. Maybe just being here would help, in some way. Yohji wasn't sure, but he hoped it would. Otherwise, all of this was just wasted effort, and the thought of that pissed him off.

Aya didn't reply, which told Yohji he had hit home with his assessment of Aya's feelings. Silence fell between them once more, but it was different this time -- more companionable and less strained than before.

The quiet, broken only by the rustle of the wind through the papers and trash in the alley and the sounds of Yohji smoking, lasted until Yohji finished his cigarette. He tossed the spent butt to the concrete in front of him and ground it out under the sole of his shoe.

"Here. Brought you something," Yohji said, after staring out into the alley for a few more seconds.

He held the paper bag out to Aya, who regarded it with a suspicious stare. After a couple of moments, Aya seemed to decide the bag wasn't going to shrivel up and disappear if he just glared at it long enough. With a resigned-sounding sigh, he took it from Yohji and peered inside to see a rather greasy-looking brown lump at the bottom of the sack.

"What is this?" he asked.

"Fruitcake," Yohji replied, as if it made all the sense in the world.

Aya stared at Yohji. He couldn't help but feel as if he had stepped off the world into one of the strangest, most surreal dreams, ever. The anniversary of the absolute worst day of his life, and his best friend brought him -- fruitcake. It was so weird that it defied explanation, although Aya was sure Yohji would have some hare-brained reason for it. Yohji was like that -- he could be the king of weird at times, but, somehow, there was a thread of logic to his actions. Twisted logic, but logic nonetheless.

Yohji shrugged and gave Aya a rather sheepish grin, "I got it from Yoko -- the girl I went out with tonight. She made it." He paused for a heartbeat, maybe two, and then continued, "Actually, I wouldn't eat that, if I were you. She's a pretty bad cook. Not that I care. Cooking ability isn't one of the first things I look for in a woman."

Aya glanced back into the bag, reassessing his opinion of Yohji. It was pretty clear he had given Yohji too much credit. Yes, Yohji was twisted. But, logical … apparently not.

Yohji groaned and stretched, looking skyward as the first, fat raindrops splattered to the concrete around them.

"Well, I'm going in. No sense standing out here in the rain," Yohji commented, turning to head toward the rooftop door that would take him back inside the Koneko. He paused halfway there and called back, over his shoulder, "You know, maybe true freedom is deciding to come in out of the rain."

Aya stared after Yohji as the door banged shut behind him. He couldn't help thinking maybe there was a method to Yohji's madness, after all. Somehow, Yohji had, once again, managed to hit upon exactly what he had been thinking. It was as if Yohji had reached in and pulled out his very soul, looking into his deepest thoughts to find the one thing that might bring him comfort. Aya wasn't sure how Yohji always managed to do that, but it scared him that Yohji might know him that well. It wasn't like crappy fruitcake was going to make things any better. His life was still his life. His sister was still in a coma. His parents were still dead. He still had to live with the memories and pain of that night. But, somehow, Yohji's observation struck home, making Aya think that, maybe, he could live through tonight. And, if he could do that, he had lived through another year of this. And, just maybe, he could manage to live through the next day and the next -- until, one day, it might not hurt so much. Perhaps that was what Yohji had meant by telling him to come in out of the rain.

Aya looked into the bag, giving the lumpy fruitcake one more, dubious, glance.

Then again, he was probably giving Yohji too much credit. The whole thing might be nothing more than Yohji's brand of dumb luck. Aya couldn't help smiling at that thought as he tossed the bag over the side of the building, into the dark alley below, and followed Yohji inside, out of the rain.

**end**


End file.
